The Psychology of Changing
by Veritas Found
Summary: Donna decides the Doctor needs a wardrobe change.


**Title:** "The Psychology of Changing"

**Author:** Wish Wielder

**Fandom:** Doctor Who

**Pairing / Character Focus:** (Tenth) Doctor, Donna Noble

**Challenge:** N/A

**Theme / Prompt:** N/A

**Word Count:** 2,041

**Rating:** T / PG-13

**Summary:** Donna decides the Doctor needs a wardrobe change.

**Notes:** S4, shortly after Partners in Crime (slight refs to 04x02, but only what's shown in the trailer). Based on Donna's "Don't you ever change?" line. Part of the Psychology series.

**Disclaimer:** "Doctor Who" and all respective properties are © the BBC. Megan D. (Wish Wielder) does not, has never, nor will ever own "Doctor Who".

"_**The Psychology of Changing"**_

"Well, that was a romp!" Donna groused as she stomped up the ramp. The Doctor laughed, reaching up to ruffle some of the ash out of his hair. "'Hello, Donna! Welcome to the TARDIS! Let's go to _Volcano Day!_' I knew I should've stayed home!"

"Oh, you loved it!" the Doctor said, grinning at her as he walked up to the controls. She plopped down in the jump seat, folding her arms as she gave him a Look. He wondered, only briefly, why all his most recent companions – well, all his companions, really – seemed to know this Look so well. "'Sides, should've brought one of those hats – would've done wonders blocking the ash!"

She quirked a brow at him, and he paused.

"You're not laughing," he said, frowning.

"Yeah, 'cause nearly getting sacrificed to Martian gods is _such a laughing matter_," she said. He sighed and flipped a switch, sending them into the Vortex.

"Honestly, Donna – they weren't Martian," he said. He quirked a brow at her. "Is everything Martian to you?"

He frowned at the look that crossed her face, followed quickly by a snort as she covered her mouth with her hands. He quirked a brow at her, and she laughed, nodding.

"Yes, Doctor," she said. "_It's all Martian to me!_"

"Ah…" he gaped, and then he smiled. And then he was laughing right along with her, and he shook his head as he reached over to fiddle with a knob. "I can't believe you said that."

"Can't leave all the bad puns to you," she said, looking down at her lap as she dusted off the skirt of her dress. She looked back up to him and frowned, noting the ash still covering most of his pinstriped suit. "Doctor, I really think you should go change."

"Huh? Why?" he asked, though he didn't look up from his fiddling. She frowned.

"Well, I changed to go to Pompeii," she said, nodding at her dress-and-trouser combination. "You're still in the same suit you wore when we waved goodbye to the fat. So I ask you again: do you ever change?"

"_Yes_, Donna," he said, rolling his eyes. He was very sure he had told her that back at Adipose Industries. He brushed some ash off his shoulders and shrugged when she quirked a brow at him. "I just…really like this suit."

"And it's the only suit you have?" she asked, and he rolled his eyes again. Honestly, he'd been spending too much time around these humans.

"I have others," he said, "but why spend the time changing when we can be on some planet billions of miles away from Earth?"

"'Cause they'd be offended by your smelly suit there, too," she replied, and he groaned. "C'mon, go change – or I demand a shopping trip."

He paused, looking at her but not really seeing her for just a moment. Her ginger hair turned blonde, and her dress turned to jeans and a jumper as her annoyed look turned to one of excitement with a bit of tongue poking out the side of her mouth. His mouth slammed shut, and he knew he was biting his lip a bit harder than necessary. It wasn't real. It never was.

"Doctor?" he jumped at Donna's voice, and all the sudden she was Donna again, and he looked back to the console as he flipped some more switches and pulled a lever or two. "Doctor, are you all right?"

"Honestly, you humans," he said, avoiding her question with the practiced ease of nine hundred plus years, "offer you all of time and space at your fingertips and all you care about is shopping!"

"_It's called Bazoolium…"_

He shook his head and walked over to a monitor, forcing thoughts of the last shopping trip he had taken a friend on out of his mind. He jumped as a hand was laid on his shoulder, and he turned to find Donna giving him a worried look. He slapped on a manic grin, and her frown deepened. He ignored that, too.

"Are you all right?" she asked, and he looked up at the time rotor.

"I'm always all right," he said, his usual lie whenever the question was asked. "Right, so changing, yes? Then…anywhere!"

He grabbed her hand and tugged her down the hallway, running as fast as he could from the ghost lingering, still so alive, in the console room.

– W –

"Oh…my…God!" Donna gasped as he pushed open the doors to the wardrobe room. Her face broke into a wide grin, a laugh bubbling from her as she looked around at all the clothes. It was a universal constant: women would 

always be taken by a large selection of clothes. Unless they were from one of those planets that didn't use them. "You've had this in here the whole time?"

"Oh, yes!" he said, grinning. He walked towards the staircase, shoving his hands in his pockets as he went. "Live as long as I have and you're bound to get a collection started up. Add all the people that've travelled with me and things they've left behind, and…well, you get the idea."

"But there's a wardrobe in my room – don't you have one in yours to keep your clothes in?" she asked, and he shrugged.

"Don't go in there much," he said, looking off to the side. If there was any look that crossed his face, Donna didn't mention it. "Easier to come here. Use yours all you like, though – probably easier than searching through all this. Unless you feel like dressing up for the period, then you might want to swing by."

"Yeah, but I'm not the one looking for an outfit, sunshine," she said. She pushed his shoulders, sending him up the first few stairs. He looked back at her, and she grinned. "Go on, go find something – impress me, Martian boy!"

"All right, all right," he said, straightening his jacket slightly as he began his trek up the stairwell. "You don't have to be so _bossy_ about it!"

He ignored whatever comment she tossed his way as he climbed a few flights up, to where one of the old mirrors was propped near the wall. He made a right, turning down an aisle of clothes that really didn't belong there, but most days he found it easier to look at Ace's old shirts and Sarah Jane's old skirt suits than Rose's old hoodies. He reached the end of the aisle and began flicking through some of the clothes, whistling to himself as he pulled out another brown suit. He moved around some shirts, finally settling on an orange Oxford and gray-blue Henley before pulling down a red tie. He scooped up a pair of navy Chucks before dropping his loot onto a nearby bench. Well, she didn't say he _had_ to go for different…

– W –

Donna looked up from the satiny green dress she had found near the entrance when she heard footsteps coming from the stairs. The Doctor hopped down the last few steps and gave her a massive grin, such a difference from that tortured look he had worn earlier. He spread his arms wide and twirled, coming to a halt with a click of his foot.

"Well? What d'ya think?" he asked. She looked at him, her jaw dropping as she took in a suit identical to what he had entered the room in. Other than looking like it had been washed (which was a plus), all it really seemed he had done was change his shirt and tie. And his shoes. "Donna?"

"No," she said, and he frowned.

"But…why not? It's clean!" he said. "Smells lemony-fresh, too!"

"It's the same thing you were wearing ten minutes ago – all you did was wash it!" she said. He frowned and looked down at his jacket, picking at the collar. He did more than that; it was a new suit entirely. The other one was in the wash basket!

"No it's not," he said, and she rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, but it looks it," she said. She pointed back up the stairs. "Try again, or I'll make you wear that dress I was just looking at."

"Yes, ma'am!" he said, saluting her as he ran back up the stairs. She smirked as she looked through some more clothes, whistling a bit. She had a feeling that would do the trick.

Ten minutes later he was back at the top of the steps, and when she turned to face him she couldn't stop the laugh that burst from her. She doubled over, pointing and guffawing as she tried to catch her breath. He stood there looking like he had just popped out of some Italian Renaissance movie, all Caribbean colors and frock coats and stockings and…oh, God, he wasn't serious?

"No," she said. At his frown, she gave him an incredulous look. "You look ridiculous! Try again."

Another ten minutes and he was standing in a pair of jeans, a green shirt, and black sandals. The shirt had white writing on it that read: "I discovered a new race and saved New New York and all I got was this lousy t-shirt!" She had no idea what he meant by that, but the goofy grin on his face told her it probably wasn't serious. Though, with him, you could never be sure. She pointed back up the stairs, shaking her head, and frowned.

They spent the better part of the next hour with him modeling different looks, each one more ridiculous (in her opinion, though – when he came down in that chicken suit – maybe in everyone's) than the last. Finally, when he came down in the velvet crush maroon tux jacket with matching slacks and ruffle shirt, she had had enough.

"Oh, bloody hell no!" she cried, shaking her head. He opened his mouth to protest, and she shook her head. She began rooting through the pile she had assembled near her and tossed him a pair of black jeans, a gray Henley, and an old leather jacket she had found. "Try those."

But the moment the jacket had touched his hands (or maybe the moment he had seen it) he grew silent. She looked over at him to see that look back on his face, slightly darker than before, and she frowned. His hand fisted in the jacket, his lips pressed tightly together as his jaw clenched; silently, he shook his head.

"Doctor?" she asked, but he didn't look at her. "You don't have to wear it. It was just a suggestion."

"Not this jacket," he said. She nodded, and he looked up at her. The look in his eyes was clear: _do not touch this jacket._ All the same, he took it with him as he went back up the steps, leaving her to watch after him with a concerned look. She thought she heard him call out a few minutes later, something about "Very clever, old girl!", but knew she had to be imagining it. When he came back down, he was back in that jeans and sandals combo, only this time with a red shirt that red "It's _always_ Cardiff" – though his mood did seem to have improved. She groaned and threw her head back.

"Doctor!" she cried, and he frowned.

"I told you to just let me keep the suit," he said, and she raised a brow at him. "What? The suit's me!"

"One more try, and if you mess it up this time – which I'm very convinced you're doing on purpose – we're going shopping," she said, and he grumbled as he stalked back up the stairs. When he came back down, he was in a blue suit with the shirt combination he had tried with the brown. Her lips pressed together as she gave him a Look, and he frowned at her.

"What?" he asked, looking down at his suit. "What'd I do this time?"

"…bloody Martian wanker," she mumbled before stalking off. He frowned as he watched her go, then looked down to his suit. A grin split his lips as he went after her, chuckling to himself over his victory. She would have to learn, he was beginning to understand, that she couldn't beat good style.


End file.
